


It'll be okay, one day.

by RunIntoTheNight



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: AU, Angst, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Fluff, I feel like there's a need for this, In that period, In which Peter went to boarding school with Harry, M/M, References to Addiction, Temporarily Unrequited Love, This'll basically just be a bunch of one shots, but also some, obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunIntoTheNight/pseuds/RunIntoTheNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Singing up for someone else's mess was never in your plans.</p><p>But you loved him.</p><p>You loved him so much that you'd fall with him, in a heartbeat.</p><p>But he was too far gone, and you were too stubborn to accept that.</p><p>|| Boarding School!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Asfhvgbg I needed to do this so bad. I just... I probably won't even finish this, but it's good to know I started it??? I dunno.  
> Welp.
> 
> Enjoy~!

* * *

 

**My only s u n s h i n e .**

 

 

You were stuck, staring up at the ceiling of your newest room.

For a twelve year old, you weren't exactly all that energetic. At least, not today.

It was your first day in boarding school, a whole month after your parents had got up, decided to leave you and die along the way. You still didn't know how to feel about everything. You feel the need to be sad, to cry at night, and feel bad in general. But you feel numb, empty even. Maybe there was a tint guilt, somewhere in there, but if there was, it wasn't making any effort of showing itself. 

But when you close your eyes and try to catch up on some well needed sleep, everything flashes before your eyes again.

 

Your mom kisses your forehead, says something about being sorry whilst your dad is urging her to go already. The rain is pouring outside, and you cling to the glass opening of your door, watching as they leave while wondering if they'll ever enter these doors again. 

They won't.

The realization of that was confirmed soon enough.

 

And he's by your side as they lower the coffins of the parents you were supposed to be grieving. His blue eyes are glazed over, and you can't help but wonder if he's holding his tears back for your sake, or because his father is near. It was always one of those two options, he never dared himself to cry on either. You remember the day that his mother died, and you could see the way everything seemed to break inside him. He was only six, at the time, but you could see it in his eyes. As cold as he was, his eyes were possibly the most revealing thing in the world. That electric shade of blue held nothing back, while Harry himself, held everything back.

And right now, you needed something, someone to run to. He was the only one that your mind supplied could help. He was the only one you could run to, especially now that you're aunt and uncle didn't have the financial support to support you.

So, you exit your room, careful not to wake your roommate as you sneaked out. Teddy under your arm, you slowly make it to room 216, knocking on the door softly. When you get no answer, you open the door freely, peeking through the corner to meet eyes with a half awake, bed headed Osborn. There's a crease between his brows, and he looks mildly annoyed with you. You feel guilty, and you almost go to close the door behind you, hoping he didn't notice it was you due to it being dark, but then you hear a croaked out, "Pete?" You stiffen in place, eyes going towards the floor whilst the grip on your teddy bear tightened involuntarily. "What are you doing here?"

It takes you a moment to reply, to make sure your voice doesn't crack; it always does. "T-The nightmares...they're back, Har. I-I don't know what to do." He softens visually at that, sighing through his nostrils before gesturing for you to come over. "C'mere." Is all he says, sitting upright in his bed. 

You oh so slowly make your way over, closing the door silently behind you. When there, you slide into the sheets of his medium sized bed, feeling his hands pull you close and into a hug. He mumbled words of encouragement and comfort into your hair, and whatever incoherent word he said, it made you relax more and more. Your bear was between the two of you, as you nestled your head in his shoulder. He was still the taller one, he was still the one that liked protecting you even when you felt like a nuisance. 

"Go to sleep, Pete." He whispers, nuzzling his cheek into your already messed up brown hair. You tighten your grip on his thin, silk top, holding him close, keeping him close and you know he notices all this. "I'm here, I'll always be here." Came his final whisper, before you let sleep overcome your senses.

That was the first time in a long time that you've slept soundly. That was the first time in many to come that you realized how much you truly needed Harry Osborn in your life.


	2. S u r p r i s e  me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a moment there, you think you've lost him.  
> He's in his own world, living without you.
> 
> And in one moment of utter nervousness, you let yourself be lost in the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Screams because first kiss.*

It's been awhile, you think, since you've seen that infamous smile directed towards you. It's almost saddening, really, how little he seemed to care, though. He's shown little effort at actually trying to rekindle the relationship you used to have, despite the numerous times you had, following him out of your shared class while your books slipped from your grip (he never helped, you never asked). You saw his lips move into an agreement, and you always had that wave of glee run through your veins.

But he never pulled through. There was always an excuse, one you always seemed to understand. He's using your goodwill, you've realized this a long time, but there's still that tiny bit of hope that tells you he'll want you -- your friendship -- back, eventually.

The distance came somewhere around seventh grade. He was your only friend, at the time, but he had other ones, ones that were more important than you, apparently. It stung, sure, but you could understand. 

The eighth grade is almost over now, and you're starting to get on the bad side of desperate. You want his attention, want to be able to stroll into his room in the middle of the night and curl up to him, want him to just /look at you/ and /smile/ that beautiful  way he always used to. 

Which is why you're here, at his door and waiting for him to open. Waiting for your eyes to meet his azure blue. It's not long before you get your wish, the door swinging open quickly, just as you were about to leave. He looks tired, the eyebags dark under his hues. You almost feel remorseful, but you're hands are shaking at your sides because you haven't been here in months.

"Pete?" His voice is still the same, with the slight altering of inevitable puberty. It hit you both, but for you, it all went to your height. He's still short, but his voice is as creaky as an old door. "What are you doing here?" The sentimentality is vaguely there, because this looks so similar, so close, like nothing ever happened and you can just hug him (but this time, he'd be the one to have to stand on his toes). Still, you can't, so you only continue to fiddle with your thumbs whilst looking down. 

"I...I came to talk." There's a crease between his brows, a knowing and (slightly) interested expression coating his features. He doesn't say anything, unsurprisingly, and you feel the need to say more and rid yourself of the uncomfortable silence. "I-I miss you, Har. I don't know w-what or /why/ you stopped caring or whatever, but I still /care/ and this isn't fair because your supposed to be my best friend, Harry." You're getting a bit too overwhelmed at the moment, tears willing themselves not to fall as you spoke. Although your eyes weren't directed towards him, you could tell this drawn a reaction from him, you just couldn't tell what it was. "And I'm not saying you have to keep paying attention to just me, I get it. I'm not the best person ever and I'm not rich and we barely have anything in common anymore but --"

You're ready to say more, because you think you can't stop yourself now, now that he's here and actually listening to you for /once/ in a /year and a half/, but you do since his shaking fist is in your U2 shirt, pulling you closer and effectively shutting you up. The numerous words caught in your throat, a feeling unknown to you swelling in your lungs. He's so close, his eyes dead set on looking into yours. It's so silent you can hear the gulp that goes through his throat. His eyelashes flutter almost fully shut, and you swear you could count them if you could concentrate enough, but his lips are getting closer, and closer, and /closer/, before you can feel them on yours, moving softly, shakily, hesitantly. A breath passes those beautifully pink lips, and you share the well-needed air in between kisses. 

 

You understand.

Understand why you he stopped being friends.

Understand the reason why your heart is beating rabbit fast in your chest.

Understand that this is going to have to stay a secret, just between the two of you.


	3. Pulling softly, threading carefully.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The faintest thumping of his pulse becomes so apparent to your senses as you both stumble into his dorm, too intoxicated and giggly to care about anything else than your shared sloppy and heated kisses.
> 
> And you suddenly don't want to do this, not while he's like this, not while he doesn't even know his own name.
> 
> Still, he manages to convince you; he always does.

You...don't exactly know how you got here, to be completely honest.

A small heir beneath you, his teeth teasingly grazing over his bottom lip as he stares you down, electric blue eyes aching between innocence and utterly challenging. Needless to say, this is new territory for you.

The last thing you remember, though, is strolling into his room, ready to congratulate him due to it being his sixteenth birthday. You couldn't really do it in public, not the way you wanted to, anyway, since your relationship was a secret only you two were allowed to know of. But once classes were over, you'd make it over to his door in seconds, gleefully yet quietly knocking on the most likely expensive door. Usually, when you entered his single room, he'd be set at his desk, either doing something on the computer or reading a book no one was really instructed to read. But this time, he's on his bed, legs folded over each other as he stared a bottle of...scotch(?) down. It seems expensive, too, and you feel the worry well up in your chest the minute he looks up at you from his bed, ocean blue hues writing out the way he felt inside; sad, lost, disoriented.

You don't waste time, closing the door behind you and taking a seat next to him on the oversized bed, before either of you got to say a word. The bottle isn't open, you realize once you're there, but you can tell he was deeply considering it before you entered. He's staring at you, wordless, completely silent, obviously looking for a way to explain how this item got in his hands and why it's still there.

"M-My dad sent it to me." He sounds broken once the words escape his quivering lips, looking away and finalizing his gaze on the expensive bottle he was illegally holding, considering. "With compliments," Harry starts, swallowing thickly as the words seemed caught in his throat, "Norman Osborn." There's a chuckle, but it's thick with condensation. He's not happy, quite the opposite, really, and you see no better solution to to this problem than what you're about to do.

It's his birthday, you tell yourself, grabbing the bottle and opening it rather quickly, taking a rather large swig whilst the cringe on your nose grew. Anything for Harry, you'd do anything for him.

You realize he's staring at you, once you put the bottle down, magnetic and calculating gaze never looking so...hazed in your eyes. You almost forget how much all that alcohol stung your tongue and burned your throat, just by those sky blue hues. "Your turn," You choke out, and he doesn't waste time, taking the bottle from your hands, the same way you did previously, and drinking it down. Before you could even say a word, though, he sets the bottle down, hastily leaning over to you and kissing you deeply. You can taste the previously drunk alcohol on his prodding tongue, and really, who were you to deny someone so beautiful of anything?

Absolutely no one, which is exactly why you're hands were on his waist, pulling him just that much closer while he shifted so he could sit on your hips, gently rocking his own over yours, causing you to shiver uncontrollably.

That's the last thing you remember, and by now, the bottle is completely empty, your thoughts consumed by the liquor you both had shared. Everything about the atmosphere feels light, contrasting the previous, heavy one. But between the two of you, you're the more sensible one. And as soon as you're atop of him, his fingers threading tightly in your hair, you don't want this. You don't want to hurt Harry, you don't want to do something he'll regret in the morning, you don't want it to go down like this. "H-Harry, I can't do this." You voice your mind, hands on either side of his head as you look down at him. He looks so insecure, so small and weak as his words register in his clouded mind. "W-Why not?" He manages to croak out, a small crease forming between his brows. It's so unnatural, and equally as unnerving, seeing Harry act so weakly, shaking underneath him and under all those layers of clothing. You almost don't know how to reply, but fortunately, he beats you to it, again. "P-Please, Pete, I need this," A pause, before he adds along a quiet, "I need you."

It's not long before you just nod softly, causing a small sigh of relief to emit his dark pink lips, looking only slightly less frazzled than before.

You hesitantly start to unbutton his shirt, he lets you.

You unzip his pants, his hands now at your shoulder blades, blunt nails digging into your skin. You let him.

Slim fingertips run over the course of your, now bare, chest, mapping out each and every muscle, your own hands running up and down his creamy pale sides. There's a mutual look between you, and that's when you know it's alright.

There's no lube, and it's dry, and you warn him that it's going to hurt and that he doesn't have to do this if he doesn't want to. He's still being a persistent child, arching his lithe hips over yours needily and making you force down your moan.

So, you give him what he wants, slowly pushing into his trembling body as you press kisses over his porcelain skin, trying to distract him from the inevitable dull pain.

He only wants to be whole, for once, and he wants the space to be filled with you, with the care only you can provide him. There's no one else, for either of you, that has understood the way you two do. That has felt the pain of being left behind, that was forced to say they're alright when they're really not. And now, it's all shattering, his head buried in the crook of your neck, hot breath running down the span of your skin as you thrust into him, pulling him apart slowly, carefully, perfectly. 

"I love you," You mutter into his hair, for the first time ever, lowering your hand to stroke his neglected length now that you're starting to feel how his thighs are shaking around your waist, or how he's whimpering in utter pleasure.

Those three words seem to be the only thing he needs to feel full, in the end.

The small heir comes with yet another soft moan, arching into your hand as his back raised from the messed up bedsheets. His come is on both of your stomachs by the time you do the same, riding your orgasm off before you lit off for good. 

You don't say anything as you turn onto your back, arm flung around the other boy's waist, pulling him closer as you both panted heavily, lungs desperately searching for well needed oxygen. 

You spoon him, nuzzling into his shoulder as you press a few butterfly kisses to his shoulder, curling against him as the blanket emitted the extra warmth you needed. 

Drifting off to sleep, you could've sworn you heard the distant words, "I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know. I'm probably gonna make the next one pure angst. Feat Lana Del Rey lyrics.


End file.
